Thursday
Gary had torn himself away from a lively cottage breakfast
to speed into HQ before Nigel could decide to go to Paddy’s farm on his own.
“I’m having second thoughts,” said Gary.
“I‘m not surprised.”
“I’m going with you.”
“In what role, Mr Superintendent? Guardian? Stepfather?”
“Neither. Just looking around while you do some exercising.”
“Charming. I work my butt off while you cheer me on!”
“Be serious, Nigel,” said Gary, wondering why Nigel was
trying to put him off going.
“I am serious, Gary. I don’t think it’s wise of you to go
there just to watch over me - unnecessarily.”
So that’s why, thought Gary. Vanity.
“I’m going, or we’ll both stay here and I’ll find someone
else to go to the place.”
“I give in, though I can’t imagine why you don’t want me to
go there by myself. But you know I’m too curious to back out.”
“Good boy. I knew you’d approve.”
“Yes, Dad.”
***
“Did Chris send a report?”
“He can’t understand why the remains were buried when they
could have been incinerated and gone for ever.”
“There might not have been an incinerator handy.”
“Some farms have fiery ritual chambers,” said Nigel. “I’m sure
Paddy Kelly didn’t bother the authorities with dead sheep.”
“We might have eaten them,” said Gary. “Paddy was never a
proper farmer, I was told later. Not fussy about hygiene, either.”
“All the more reason he had for getting rid of the
evidence.”
“Don’t make me wonder about persons missing in the area,
Nigel. I don’t think Paddy Kelly was a killer.”
“But you aren’t sure, are you?”
“No.”
“So if there is a man-eater at the farm, the remains would
have been incinerated, wouldn’t they?” said Nigel, who was far from confident
in his theory, but determined to press on.
“We don’t even know if there is an incinerator,” said Gary.
“We could find out.”
“But the remains at the priory were not incinerated, Nigel.
All this speculation is a waste of time.”
***
“By the way, Dan Scot and Ian Bailey are probably harmless
individuals if there is such a thing,” said Nigel, glad to change the subject.
“We discovered that they are driving instructors. Isn’t there a Bailey driving
school?”
“We?”
“Chris and me. Separately.”
“Being a driving instructor does not mean you are innocent.”
“Echoes of Cleo’s wisdom there, Gary. But at least they
aren’t part of the farm gym setup.”
“The one does not exclude the other, Nigel. Even if it is a
commune there, they won’t all be gym trainers. There can’t be that much
demand.”
“I phoned Colin earlier and he said he thought the two guys
were too familiar with the farm setup not to have experienced it at first
hand.”
“We’ll have to find out more about their activities,” said
Gary.
“I’ll register for driving lessons, shall I?”
“If you survive the farm, you could do that.”
“With you by my side acting as Sir Galahad, how could I not
survive?”
“I’ll phone Mia and tell her where we are going, Nigel,”
said Gary. “If we don’t turn up here by tomorrow, she could send out a search
party and watch for smoke signals.”
“You are macabre, Gary.”
“I am, aren’t I? But the case calls for it.”
***
Gary’s phone-call to Mia took a twist that Gary found very
welcome. Instead of hearing Mia’s voice, he heard Greg’s. Gary’s plan to visit
Paddy’s farm receded to the back of his mind. It could wait, and Nigel with it.
“I thought you’d gone forever,” said Gary, still a bit sore
from Greg walking out a month or two previously because he apparently hated
being a cop.
It was, on reflection, a parallel to Nigel walking out to
take over his parents’ dry-cleaning business, a decision that had proved so
disastrous that he had returned to HQ apologetic and ready to scrub the floors
if Gary did not want him back.
So Gary had thought better of requesting a replacement for
Greg. For that, he would have had to ask Henry, HQ’s financial manager, who
would have said they were getting on so well without Greg that the post did not
need to be filled again. Gary had therefore declared Greg to be on a sabbatical
and was saving HQ his salary by taking time off to build his mind.
“I’m glad to be back, though I don’t know if I still have a
job, Gary.”
“You do. I did not write you off as requested. What got into
you?”
“Sharing the job with Mia,” said Greg. “I thought I was
going to be homicide chief.”
“You are, but Mia needed the job too, after her experience
with Mike, so it’s a joint post until we can separate the two departments. The
problem is that we are basically small fry the HQ world, Greg.”
“At least that wife-beater is in a cosy cell now,” said
Greg.
“But she still needs the job and I’m not going to demote
her. I didn’t know you resented her so much.”
“I was influenced by Rosie. She said a man did not need to
share a job with a woman. That made me feel very inadequate.”
“That’s rich. She’s a woman bitching on her own sex,” said
Gary. “But that’s typical of the female career-ladder: the image of the little
woman behind the big man. You read all about it in the press. Gorgeous young
women and worn-out old men in high positions. The women are usually more
creative, however. The men just do as they are told.”
“I’ve had time to think about it, and I agree,” said Greg.
“And Mia is more involved with the drugs scene than homicide,
Greg. I gave her half my old job because Henry had wiped out the post of drugs team
leader when those other guys went into a decline.”
“I’m OK now. I’m rid of Josie and my hang-ups.”
“I’m glad to hear it, and now you’re back I have a request.”
“Anything.”
Go to the Bailey driving school. Nigel wants to get driving
lessons there – as ruse to investigate but I think you should jump the guns. Find
out what goes on behind the scenes. I’d also like to know what hobbies the
instructors have.”
“Won’t I be in Nigel’s way?”
“I won’t tell him.”
“That’s Bailey’s own driving school. It’s always advertised
in the Gazette,” said Greg. “It’s a mall world.”
“How come?”
“Rosie jilted me for Ian Bailey. Little skunk. One of those
guys who buys his women friends – I suppose that counts as a hobby.”
“What you don’t say.”
“So he knows me, Gary. I don’t think I should go there in
case he thinks I want Josie back.”
“You have a point. I’ll have to send Nigel after all.”
“May I ask why you are interested in those guys?”
“Read the reports on the anthropophagy case, Greg.”
“The what?”
“Cannibalism.”
“Whatever next!”
“We hope it was one-off, but we can’t be sure.”
“Surely you don’t think those two driving instructors are involved.”
“They do get a lot of clients and some may be suitable to be
passed on.”
“Passed on to whom?”
“That’s what we have to find out. Read the reports and get
to the priory in Upper Grumpsfield to talk to a Mr Sloane. He’s looking for
more human remains and anything else he comes across. I think Nigel will cope
at the driving school, but you could look into the activities apart from
driving lessons later today when we’ve heard what Nigel has to say about the
school.”
“It has a good reputation,” said Greg. “And it caters for
females.”
“How?”
“A glass of bubbly after the lesson. Josie told me that
before she left. She was going to enjoy the bubbly I had apparently not served
often enough.”
“You are still a bid sad about her going, I think,” said
Gary.
“Not sad. Angry. I had invested a lot in her.”
“Cash?”
“Clothes mostly.”
“More fool you, Greg.”
“Don’t rub it in!”
***
So Greg’s back, is he?” said Nigel. “I’m not surprised. He
was as dedicated as they come before he fell for that girl.”
“Rosie finished him off,” said Gary. “She went off with Ian
Bailey, of all people and that’s the guy Colin and Jim talked to at that bar,
so he does not want anything to do with that joint or Bailey.”
“I’m sure he doesn’t.
I’ll ask Mr Bailey if he knows of a decent gym, shall I? But what about Paddy’s
farm?”
“Later. Don’t arouse suspicion. Just take it slowly. Those
bones have been in the ground for quite some time and the ecclesiastical
treasures have been in that underground vault since the reign of Henry VIII.”
“Did you know that some British laws still valid were made
by Henry VIII?”
“Nothing surprises me about British law. Antiquated customs
are a sign of treasuring the past. Nigel. I don’t hold with it. Let’s get
moving, shall we?”
“On foot? Are you coming along after all?”
“I’m not driving t the driving school. The place is only
round three corners. And on second thoughts, I’ll stay here.”
“I thought you wanted to look after me.”
“I’ll have to stay here and emphasize the importance of
finding the van that disappeared with all those church ornaments. There has
been no feedback at all.”
“The Gates firm doesn’t exist apart from the cell phone
number, does it?”
“It was their van, so they must park it somewhere.”
“Ask Gisela to get those traffic cops looking.”
“That’s exactly what I’m going to do. She doesn’t seem to be
making much of an effort.”
***
As if on cue the house-phone rang. Gary did not cultivate
many informers and most people avoided the HQ house phone and used mobiles, but
the man who ran the antique shop in Castle Road was a asset and at moments like
these Gary was sure he was telepathic.
Nigel waved goodbye and left. Paddy’s farm was going to have
to wait.
***
“Ok. Jacob. News for me on the church haul?”
“I was offered a churchy sort of sceptre this morning.”
“Really? Did you buy it?”
“I told the guy I needed time to get some cash from the
bank. He is to return at noon.”
“Good work.”
“So you know who it belongs to, do you, Gary?”
“I left a text on your phone, Jacob, so you already know
that a cache of such objects was stolen from Monkton Priory. They probably
belong to the Pope.”
“So I can’t buy it, can I? It’s too hot to handle.”
“On the contrary, you’ll get a reward as big as the sum you might
have got for it, Jacob, and we’ll get that money from the reward fund with any
luck.”
“So what do I do next?”
“I was going to do something else, but on second thoughts I’ll
be right over, Jacob. I’ll stay out of sight until the deal is done.”
“OK.”
“Did you go to the bank?”
“I didn’t need to, but I needed time to think – and contact
you.”
“You may have helped to solve a case, in fact, I’m sure you
will have. I’ll see you right, Jacob.”
***
Gary was aware that Jacob was also a fence and turned a
blind eye to the small stuff because Jacob was only useful as a free agent. But
in this case he would not have been able to pass the object on without
questions being asked. Church mementos were too conspicuous. Gary did not think
Jacob was involved in the theft, but you never knew. It was possible that Jacob
had subsequently considered the consequences of handling church antiques.
As a precaution, Gary ordered a plain clothes team in an
unmarked car to be on hand if there was trouble. Trust is good; control is
better. Then he phoned Greg again and invited him to go along. Together, they walked
to the antique shop, went round the back of the house as Gary always did when
he visited Jacob, got into the building with the key Jacob had provided a while
ago when the informer system had been established, and waited in a back room
for something to happen. The door would be triple locked at night, but when
Jacob was there and expected Gary, he drew back the bolts and removed his own
key.
Greg thought it was at the very least unusual for an
informant to provide access to his business, but there was probably a good
reason and he would delve deeper some other time.
***
Jacob did not have many customers. Tourists were few and far
between except on Thursdays when local produce was sold and itinerant traders
dealt in piles of cheap and second hand clothing and shoes, kitchen-ware, trinkets
and handicrafts.
In spring and summer, market gardeners did a roaring trade.
But the Thursday street-markets in November were a mere shadow of the ones held
when the weather was more congenial. December saw the emergence of Advent
markets up and down the country and that included Middlethumpton after the
Mayor, Mr Cobblethwaite, saw one selling Punch by the ladle on TV and decided
that what was good for Germany and Austria was very good for Middlethumpton. But
the weather was dismal now, cold and drizzly; not the kind of weather for
strolling around a street market or even serving in one. So people shopped at
the supermarkets and otherwise stayed at home, and so did most of the traders.
Those who had opened their stalls sold mostly local farm or dairy produce. They
wore gloves without fingertips and shivered.
Jacob used the slow above-board trading with few customers
and no interest in antiques to reorganize his window display. The prospect of a
historic ecclesiastical objet d’art acquired legally had cheered him up and got
him droning klezmer, doleful but agreeable minor key tunes in a gentle, deep
bass voice. The Jew in Jacob’s blood let him recall the traditions of his
childhood, when good and bad news were clothed in minor keys and chanted like
mantras by the elders.
***
“He’s looking in through the window,” Jacob chanted now.
Gary had heard those exact tones before. It was time to get ready for a
confrontation with whoever had brought in the priory treasure.
***
The man who approached the counter was quite tall, about 45
years of age, well-dressed and with a very worried look on his face.
Gary and Greg could see him through strategically placed
mirrors. He was not the kind of guy you would suspect of trying to hock stolen
goods.
“Here it is,” the man said in a cultured voice as he pushed
the object across the counter to Jacob. He had carried it to the antique shop
in one of those linen shopping bags environmentally friendly people use for
their shopping. He drew the object carefully out of the bag and laid it on the
counter. Jacob had seen it the first time, of course, so he waited patiently
while the man unrolled the object that was wrapped in a no-name tee-shirt daubed
with a white skull and cross-bones.
“How much do you want for it?” Jacob asked, looking
dispassionately at the splendid, untarnished antique.
“I’ll let you have it for 50 pounds,” said the man. “That’s
only symbolic. I want to be rid of it, not make money.”
“It’s worth a lot more than that, Mister.”
“Medoc like the wine grape. French ancestors.”
“Well, Mr Medoc. I’m Jacob Epstein – Jewish ancestors, 3rd
generation, and if you don’t want or even need to make money on your treasure,
why don’t you take it to a museum?”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why. Isn’t it yours to sell? You shouldn’t come here with
stolen goods. I’ll have to call the police, Mr Medoc.”
“Please don’t do that.”
“We’re already here,” said Gary, approaching the counter on
Jacob’s side. Greg went to the shop door. Mr Medoc was not going to be allowed
to leave unexpectedly.
The man shrank visibly.
“You might as well tell us where you got this from,” said
Gary.
Mr Madoc shrank a bit more.
“I found it.”
“You found it?” Gary and Jacob called in unison. “Where?”
Gary was hoping Mr Medoc had discovered the missing van.
“On my son’s bed,” he said.
“What’s your son’s name, Mr Medoc?” said Gary.
“Albert. He calls himself Al, but his real name is Albert
and he seems to have got into bad company.”
“So you don’t know what Albert does with his days, I
assume.”
“I’m busy at the bank all day. He’s a loafer, Inspector, a
good-for-nothing.”
“Your good-for-nothing son has been dabbling in archaeology,
Mr Medoc.”
“I don’t understand.”
“At Monkton Priory in Upper Grumpsfield there is an ongoing
project to recover the treasures that were hidden away during the reign of
Henry VIII.”
“And Albert is helping?”
“He’s getting paid.”
“But he’s only interested in his damn guitar,” said Medoc.
“That may be the case, but he’s taken a job to earn some
money, Mr Medoc.”
Medoc nodded several times. He had always been out of his
depth where Albert was concerned.
“We sent him to a good school. Haverstock. Private. Cost a
fortune.”
“We’ll have to talk to him about this,” said Gary. “I assume
that he took it from the van that was supposed to deliver the ornaments found
in the dig to Police Headquarters.”
“I’m so sorry. I’ll make sure he gives it back.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’ll confiscate it now and Alfred
will have to explain how it got into his room. Where does he usually hang out
during the day, Mr Medoc?”
“You‘ll have to ask my wife,” Medoc emphasized, as if
washing his hand of the whole incident. “He goes to a youth club in the
evenings, but he usually hangs out in the park during the day if it isn’t
raining. He left school without even telling us, you see. He did not want a
good education and he humiliated us with the school directors. They said they
would not take him back and me a bank manager.”
“A lot of young lads drop out of school, Mr Medoc. By the
time this business is solved, I guarantee that he’ll want to go back to school,
and the headmaster will take him back because he will want the fees.”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“Albert is going to have to answer some unpleasant questions,
I’m afraid, but rest assured, we will do our best for him,” said Gary, his
fingers mentally crossed behind his back.
“I took the morning off to see this business,” said Medoc.”
The sooner it is sorted out, the better. And I don’t want it to get into the
papers. I don’t need a scandal.”
“No one needs a sandal, but I can’t influence the papers, Mr
Medoc. Just hope for the best.”
Fortunately for the drift of the conversation, Mr Medoc’s
cell phone rang. It was his wife. Albert had turned up at home drenched to the
skin and gone to his room. A moment later he had flung himself down the stairs
shouting and bawling. He had accused her of taking something from his bed. Had
Cedric taken something? Was that why he’d taken the morning off? What should
she do?
“Keep him there,” said Cedric Medoc. “I’m dealing with it
and I’ll be there in a jiff.”
“I hope I can believe you, Cedric,” said his wife.
“You can, Marie,” said Medoc. “He’s been up to something and
I’m coming with the police. Make sure Albert stays at home.”
“He’s waiting for a phone-call, Cedric. He says he has a job
on.”
“Just keep calm and put the kettle on.”
Cedric Medoc of French extraction was doing his best to appear
masterful in this sticky situation.
Gary nodded. Going to the Medoc house was a good idea. They
could talk to Albert in what he would think was a safe environment and hope he
saw sense and told the truth, though Gary thought he already knew most of what
there was to know.
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